


Deeper than the deep blue sea is

by snarky_saxophonist



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Chicago Cubs, Kris Bryant is an idiot who needs to be bubble wrapped while he plays baseball, M/M, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist
Summary: Set after the 6/28/17 loss to the Nationals, when Kris injured his ankle on a foul popup.In which Kris Bryant is bad at being injured, and Anthony Rizzo is bad at not worrying.





	1. 6/28/17: Cubs @Nationals

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't see or don't remember the game, this follows a brutal loss to the Nationals in which the Cubs' starting pitcher gave up a boatload of homers and even worse, Bryant left in the fifth inning after spraining his ankle. Bryant caught a foul popup but was unaware of how close he had drifted to the bag, and despite Javy Baez's attempt to warn him, came down awkwardly on the bag and hurt his ankle. He eventually had to be helped off the field by two of the trainers (PJ Mainville and Ed Halbur), and couldn't put any weight on it as he made his way into the clubhouse.
> 
> If you know someone tagged in this story personally, or are one of those people, you likely want to hit the back button now.

“Obviously, y’know, it would be a huge blow to lose Kris for any significant amount of time,” Anthony tells the reporters after their loss to the Nationals. “I mean, I haven’t heard yet how bad it is, so hopefully he’ll only miss a couple of days at most, but if it’s worse, we’ll adapt, other guys will step up. We’ve got other options at third, we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Anthony sighs in relief when the reporters start shutting off their recorders and mumbling thanks and farewells. He’s tense and would up after a frustrating game, as well as waiting hours with no word on Kris. That old saying about how no news is good news? That’s fucking bullshit, in his opinion. No news just means they still don’t know anything, so it could be either great or fucking awful. 

“Rizz!” Jonny calls out to him as he starts to head towards the trainer’s room to check on Kris. “I just went to try to see KB, but PJ wouldn’t let me in.”

“Wouldn’t let you in?” Rizzo repeats incredulously. “Why the hell not?”

“He said KB wants his privacy right now,” Lester says grimly. Anthony’s stomach drops out from under him. Kris is, admittedly, a more reserved guy, but his teammates are his brothers, and while he doesn’t volunteer a ton of information, he doesn’t conceal it when asked. That he’s hiding now, especially when he must know how concerned his teammates are, means Kris is either extremely upset, or the injury is really severe. And if the former is true, it’s almost definitely because the latter is.

“Did he say if that included me?” Anthony asks, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. 

“PJ told me specifically to tell you,” Jon says gently, squeezing Rizzo’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Rizz. He’ll be okay.”

“Then why doesn’t he want me with him?” Anthony meets Jon’s eyes, which makes it worse. There’s a knowing sympathy written in them that guts him, slices through the last remaining piece of his optimism.

“Everybody reacts to bad news and being injured differently,” Jon says. “Maybe he just needs a little time to deal with things on his own. Or maybe he thinks he’s protecting you by not letting you see him upset or in pain.”

“He’s not protecting me, he’s just making me worry more,” Anthony says.

“I know, but he’ll worry about you if you’re there with him, and he’s doing what he needs for himself right now. He’ll let you in when he’s up for it, you know he will,” Jon assures him. “Go get cleaned up and then see if he’s ready.”

“Thanks,” Rizzo sighs and moves to get his stuff from his locker. Jonny stops him to give him a tight hug, one that makes Anthony feel warm, in a better way than from the sticky DC weather. “Love you, Jonny.”

“You too, Rizz,” Jonny lets him go with a pat on the bicep. “Go work through your own stuff, then help your guy. We need you two, in here and out there.”

 

Half an hour later, showered and changed and feeling better about everything, Anthony knocks on the door of the trainer’s room. PJ opens it slightly, just enough for Anthony to see his scowl and crossed arms. 

“Do you need to see a trainer?” he asks bluntly.

“No, I need to see Kris,” Anthony replies, restraining himself from trying to peer around PJ to do that.

“I know Lester told you that he didn’t want to see anyone right now,” PJ says, moving to shut the door.

“Wait!” Anthony sticks his hand in the way before PJ can close it. “Can you just…tell him that I’m going to wait right out here until he’s ready?”

“I’ll tell him,” PJ says, the look in his eyes softening ever so slightly. Anthony moves his hand and sinks down on the floor with a sigh. He knows better than to try to get any information out of PJ on Kris’s condition, and if Kris won’t let him in, he’s unlikely to have let anybody else on the team in yet.

“You okay?” Kyle Hendricks asks, looking down at Rizzo as he walks towards the trainer’s room. 

“Waiting for Kris,” Rizzo shrugs unhappily. “How’s the hand?”

“Getting there,” Kyle nods. “How’s Kris?”

“I don’t know,” Anthony admits. “He doesn’t want to see anyone, which is why I’m waiting.”

“Oh,” Kyle frowns and lifts his left hand to knock on the door. PJ opens it again, already scowling.

“Rizzo, I said-oh. Come on in, Kyle,” he says, looking down at Rizzo sitting on the floor. “I haven’t passed your message along to Kris yet.”

“Okay,” Anthony shrugs. “I’ll be here.” He leans against the wall, pulling out his phone as he settles in to wait however long he needs until Kris is ready. His phone is blowing up with notifications and texts of people asking how Kris is doing, though, so he shuts it off and lets his head flop back against the wall. He’s bored, tired, frustrated, and increasing anxiety is swirling around inside him. Why does Kris need so much time alone? Just how badly is he hurt? It can’t be something season-ending, can it? Or, God forbid, career-ending? It didn’t even look bad at first, just a tweaked ankle, but with the way he was hobbling off the field, and how long he’s been in with the trainers, it can’t be anything good. 

The door next to him opens angrily, and PJ steps out. “You can go in now,” he sighs, arms still crossed. Anthony leaps to his feet, nearly falling over again as he hurries past PJ, barely remembering to mumble his thanks. 

“Kris!” he rushes across the room in his haste to get to his boyfriend, the back of his mind noticing that the other trainers and Kyle aren’t in the room with them. He hears PJ’s footsteps as he moves to the back room, presumably to join his colleagues and other patient, but his focus is on his exhausted, miserable boyfriend. 

“You didn’t have to wait,” Kris mutters, looking up at him slowly. His eyes are red, and he rubs angrily at them as Anthony stops next to him. “The trainers would’ve gotten me to the hotel.”

“And if it was me, you would’ve left?” Anthony asks. “I couldn’t leave without knowing how you are. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Kris gestures at his ankle, propped up on a pile of pillows and restrained in what looks like some sort of ice-filled torture device. “See? Totally fine.”

“Hey, I’m just concerned about you,” Anthony says gently, refusing to rise to Kris’s frustrated sarcasm. “What’d they say about it?”

“Basically that we don’t know anything,” Kris snaps. “Gotta wait until tomorrow to see what it does.”

“Well, that’s better than immediately putting you on the DL, right?” Anthony points out. “Better it be borderline than bad enough they decide that right away.”

Kris snorts. “Yeah, cause this season’s been so great with borderline injuries and guys not going on the DL.”

“Kris, c’mon, that doesn’t mean the same thing will happen to you, you know that,” Anthony says. “Did PJ not say anything more than that?”

Kris sighs, lacing his fingers through Anthony’s. “I’m being a dick, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. It’s a mild or moderate sprain, they won’t be sure until they see how it is tomorrow, and same with whether it’ll warrant a DL stint. Hurts like hell right now, though.”

“Sorry, babe,” Anthony squeezes Kris’s hand. “It’s not feeling any better than it did earlier?”

“Maybe a little,” Kris shrugs. “Some of the stuff they’ve been doing to treat it has made it feel worse, actually.”

“Is it supposed to?” Anthony asks worriedly.

“PJ said it was normal,” Kris says. “It should help it heal faster, so I won’t complain.”

“I think technically you were already complaining about it,” Anthony teases gently. “But you’re allowed to complain a little when you get hurt, you know.”

“Even when getting hurt was entirely the result of me being a fucking idiot?” Kris says sharply, glaring at his ankle.

“Hey, no,” Anthony says, cupping Kris’s jaw with his free hand so Kris has to meet his eyes. “You’re not an idiot, it was really shitty luck. Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I didn’t even get hurt on a play, I got hurt stepping on the bag after catching a fucking foul popup, and Javy even warned me that I was close to the bag, but I, the fucking MVP of idiocy, didn’t pay attention and now the whole team is going to pay for my stupidity.”

“Okay, first of all, everyone gets hurt sometimes, and sometimes it’s because of fluke plays like this. Heyward tearing up his hand trying to make a catch in foul territory, Zo hurting his wrist on a swing, everybody’s gotten hurt with shit like that. Hell, one time I hit a grounder towards second and I didn’t even get out of the box because I rolled my ankle on the swing. You didn’t have enough time to hear Javy and react before you put your foot down, which isn’t your fault. Even I barely had time to register that you were about to come down on the bag, you had no chance to. It was just really shit luck,” Anthony stares into Kris’s eyes. “You got that?”

“Yeah, except for the part where I could have paid better attention and known where the bag was,” Kris doesn’t sound snarky anymore, just tired. 

“Nobody’s going to blame you for that, babe,” Anthony tries to reassure him. “You’ve made that play hundreds of times, it was just terrible luck that changed it this time.”

“I know nobody’s going to blame me, but I blame me,” Kris sighs. “We don’t need more of this shit right now.”

“No, we don’t,” Anthony agrees. “But we’ll adapt and get through until you’re back out there again. Worst case scenario, you go on the DL, get some rest and heal up and then all the injured guys get back and we go on a tear to start the second half of the season.”

“The second part of that doesn’t sound like a worst case scenario,” Kris says, affectionately squeezing Anthony’s hand.

“Exactly,” Anthony smiles. “It sucks right now, but it’s gonna get better. You’re gonna get better, and we’re gonna get better, and it’ll all be good.”

“You’re smooth,” Kris actually cracks a small smile. 

“Just call me Silk,” Anthony grins back, wiggling his eyebrows in an attempt to make Kris laugh. It doesn’t work, but Kris’s eyes lighten a little. 

“That’s my name, don’t steal it,” Kris teases. “You can only dream of my eternal grace on the field.”

“If I dream of somebody’s grace on the field, it’s definitely Javy’s,” Anthony shoots back. “He doesn’t trip over his own feet like somebody I could mention.”

“Uh, the guy tripping over his own feet is Happ, last time I checked,” Kris smiles. “I’ve never had to somersault my way to first base because I tripped.”

“Okay, true,” Anthony concedes. “Hey, when are they letting you out of here? I have some ideas for making you feel better.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t think I’m really up for much activity at the moment,” Kris’s smile fades again. “I was just going to call my dad when I get back to the hotel and then go to sleep, hope that getting more rest will help it heal faster.”

“If that’s what you want, then absolutely,” Anthony says, “although you probably need to eat something in there, too. If you want, I bet I could figure out a way to get some activities in that wouldn’t involve much work on your part, but only if you want to.”

“Thanks, but I’m just not feeling it tonight, sorry,” Kris shrugs. “I’m just tired.”

“No, don’t apologize, you’re all good,” Rizzo says quickly. “Seriously, it’s whatever would make you feel best right now.”

“I think what would make me feel best would be if somebody donated a healthy ankle to me,” Kris jokes. “You’re the best though, Rizz.”

“Yeah, I am,” Anthony smiles. “Or maybe I’m just really in love with my wonderful boyfriend and always want to see him smiling.”

“Such a sap,” Kris sighs, pretending to look put out, but he can’t hide the affection in his voice. “I think I should be almost done with this, if you want to go ask PJ? I’d get up and do it, but…”

“Yeah, no, stay where you are,” Anthony agrees, leaning forward to give Kris a quick kiss on the cheek before he heads over to the back room. Before he can knock on the door, however, Kyle walks out, nearly colliding with Rizzo. They both jump back to avoid that, Anthony nearly tripping in the process.

“Whoa!” Kyle reaches out to steady him, grabbing his arm before he can fall over. “You okay?”

“Yeah, shit, sorry,” Anthony says, laughing a little at himself. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Kyle nods, releasing him and stepping back. 

“Please try not to hurt yourselves more while standing in the trainer’s room,” PJ says exasperatedly. “There are enough of you injured as is without adding stupid things like not looking where you’re going and walking into each other.”

“Sorry,” Anthony and Kyle say in unison, Anthony giving Kyle an embarrassed grin. 

“Unless you needed anything else, PJ, I’m going to head out for tonight,” Kyle says, getting a nod from the trainer. “Feel better, Kris.”

“Thanks, you too,” Kris replies, giving Kyle a wave as he leaves the room. “When can I leave?” he asks PJ.

“Shortly,” PJ assures him, grabbing a towel and undoing the wrap on Kris’s ankle. “It’s looking better already. Still have to wait and see how it goes, but that’s a good sign.” PJ hands Kris the towel and a couple of ice packs. “I’ll just wrap this again and you can get going. Stay off it for tonight and get those ice packs started when you get to the hotel, then come back here as soon as you get to the park tomorrow. If you have any issues, you know how to get ahold of me.”

“Thanks,” Kris says, grimacing as PJ wraps his ankle up in an Ace bandage. He catches Anthony looking, though, and quickly evens out his features. Anthony raises an eyebrow at him, rolling his eyes ever so slightly. Kris seems to get the message, shooting Anthony a sheepish smile as PJ finishes up.

“Alright, you’re good to go. Take it easy,” PJ says, nodding at the two of them.

“Thanks,” Kris lets go of Anthony’s hand to swing his legs off the table, putting his weight down on his good ankle. Anthony offers him an arm for support, but Kris waves him off, easing onto his bad leg and starting to limp forward. Anthony nods gratefully at PJ as he trails after Kris.

“Do you want me to get your stuff from your locker?” He asks. “I know, I know, you say you’re fine, but PJ did say to take it easy.”

Kris sighs. “Yeah, I guess. Thanks. I’ll just start heading out and you’ll probably catch up to me.”

“Probably,” Anthony agrees. “Don’t hurt yourself more.”

“Yeah,” Kris mutters, continuing his slow limp out of the clubhouse.

 

Most of the team has cleared out of the clubhouse by now, disheartened by the loss and the loss of one of their best players, but the few guys still milling around perk up when Anthony walks in.

“He let you in eventually?” Lester asks him, swinging his bag over his shoulder but heading over to Anthony instead of making his way out.

“Yeah, after a little bit,” Anthony rubs his eyes, suddenly tired. “He’ll be okay, though.”

“And you?” Lester looks concerned. “You don’t look so hot there yourself, buddy. Maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m not going to pass out on you again,” Anthony says, but he is feeling somewhat shaky out of nowhere.

“C’mon,” Lester grabs his arm, dragging him over to the nearest locker and giving him a gentle shove to get him to sit. “Willy, can you grab Rizz’s water bottle from his locker?”

Willson looks up from where he’d been talking quietly with Hendricks, hurrying across the room. 

“Are you okay?” He asks as he hands Anthony the water bottle. 

“He’s fine,” Lester answers for him, nudging Anthony to get him to take a drink. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Willson says, giving Anthony a lingering glance as he heads back to leave with Hendricks. 

“I don’t-“ Anthony starts to say to Lester, but breaks off, not even certain of what he was going to say.

“I do. Just sit there a minute and have some water, take a minute to calm down. You were locked in on the game and worrying about Kris, then worrying about the team with the loss and still worrying about Kris, then worrying more when he wouldn’t let us in, then holding it together for him when you did,” Lester summarizes. “And you were doing everything for everyone else, not letting yourself actually handle things, so it’s hitting you all at once. The pent up worry and stress and release of that with Kris being okay is enough to make anyone feel a little off.”

“Oh,” Anthony mutters, taking another long sip of his water. “I-yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Course I am,” Lester says. “Now, how’s he doing? He going to be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s a mild to moderate sprain, he might not even go on the DL,” Anthony says. Repeating the words out loud seems to lift an invisible weight off of his shoulders, and the painful knot of worry in his gut starts to unravel.

“Good,” Lester says with a knowing smile. “And you? What’s your plan for tonight to take care of yourself?”

“Um, I was just gonna go back to the hotel with Kris, probably order room service for dinner with him and go to bed,” Anthony says. “He’s pretty tired and wants to get to bed earlier.”

“I asked what you were doing for yourself,” Lester repeats. “You need to do something to relax, work out the last bit of your emotion.”

“Maybe I’ll call Rossy, talk to him about all of this, then watch some shit TV and get to bed a little early myself,” Anthony shrugs. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Lester says. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Thanks, Jonny, but I think I’ll be alright now,” Anthony says, putting down his water and standing up.

“Yeah, you will be,” Lester agrees. “You and Kris both.” He wraps Anthony in another hug, and Anthony clings to him for a moment, using the touch to ground himself and regain his control.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Anthony says, “and we’ll be good and ready to go again.”

“Of course,” Lester smiles grimly. “Nobody ever doubts you, Rizz. You take care of you, and the rest will handle itself.”

“I hope so,” Anthony sighs, but heads over to his and Kris’s lockers to grab their bags. “There’s a lot that needs to sort itself out, though.”

“Yeah, and your job is not to worry about any of that for tonight,” Lester calls after him. “Tomorrow’s a new day and a new chance, don’t give up on it before it’s started.”

“You sound like a cheesy motivational poster,” Anthony tosses back, grinning at the pitcher. “But yeah, yeah, you’re right. Everything’ll work out.”

“It will. Now shut up and go get KB, he’s not going to want to wait for your ass,” Lester teases. “Go!”

“Going!” Rizzo laughs as he starts to jog out of the clubhouse. Outside, the sun has just started to set, but as the day comes to a close, the clouds are beginning to clear.


	2. 7/19/17: Cubs @Braves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the 7/19/17 win against the Braves, when Kris injured his pinky on an attempted steal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is after the 8-2 win over the Braves, during which Bryant exited in the first. He attempted to steal third base on a headfirst slide and ended up getting his left pinky caught on the third baseman's foot. He was removed from the game immediately after and replaced by Tommy La Stella at third. 
> 
> Again, nothing aside from the game details of this is necessarily true or intended to be so, and if you are mentioned in this or are personally acquainted with someone who is, please close out of this.

“Aw, fuck, Kris,” Zobrist mutters as Kris breaks for third base. “He’s not gonna have time.”

“Yeah,” Anthony sighs as the umpire signals the inning-ending out. “I hate it when he slides headfirst, ever since that time in Milwaukee.”

“What happened in Milwaukee? I think that must’ve been before I was here,” Zobrist says, tossing Rizzo his glove. “You’d better get out on the field, we can talk later.”

“Hang on,” Almora says, pausing next to them and gesturing at the field. “Is Kris hurt?”

Anthony and Zobrist both turn their attention back to third base, where Kris is grimacing, still lying in the dirt. He gets up after a moment, wincing and holding his hand awkwardly as he slowly comes off the field. PJ and Joe greet him at the dugout. Kris holds his left hand out to PJ, gesturing at it with his other and saying something quietly as PJ examines one of his fingers. Joe talks with Kris for a moment, then pats him on the shoulder as he crosses the dugout to talk to La Stella, who heads for his glove. 

“Looks like it,” Anthony says grimly to Almora, then turns to Zobrist. “This is what happened in Milwaukee, except it was his head that time.” Before Ben can respond, he trots up the stairs and onto the field, cutting out the part of his mind worrying over Kris so he can focus on this baseball game.

 

“It’s Star Wars!” Zobrist says to Anthony, outraged, during the top of the fifth. He pauses briefly in his tirade to wave at Russell when he singles, but dives right back in. “How can you not know that?”

“Because I’m a nerd, but I’m not quite as big of a nerd as you are,” Rizzo laughs, clapping his teammate on the shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you,” Zobrist grumbles. “When we have an off day, you, me, and KB are going to remedy your ignorance.”

“Or just the two of us,” Rizzo says sourly. “Bryant doesn’t need to join us.”

“’Bryant doesn’t need to join us’?” Zo raises an eyebrow. “Are you two fighting?”

“No,” Anthony says, a bit more sharply than he probably should. “He’s just a fucking moron.”

“Whoa, is this about the headfirst slide still? We all do it, man. He just got unlucky.”

“He always hurts himself doing it, is the difference. He said he was gonna stop after he got hurt in Milwaukee, but he hasn’t, and now he’s hurt again, and we can’t afford to lose guys on stupid mistakes like that.” Anthony makes sure to keep his features neutral and his voice low, not wanting the cameras and media to take note of this and interrogate them about potential clubhouse disputes.

“Wait, so what exactly happened in Milwaukee that time? You said he hurt his head?”

“He singled in a run,” Anthony says, sighing when Caratini grounds into a double play, “and went to second on the throw, but didn’t really have enough time, so he slid hard into the second baseman’s leg. He was super dizzy and left the game right after, then when Rossy chewed him out about sliding headfirst like that, he ended up puking on his shoes because of how messed up his head was.”

“Jeez,” Zo shakes his head. “Still, that’s only two plays, not a huge deal. Everybody’s unlucky sometimes.”

“Yeah, and if his finger is broken or there’s a torn ligament and he’s out for the season, is that still going to be not a huge deal?” Anthony laughs bitterly.

“Or it could turn out like his ankle did, and he could be back in just a couple of days,” Zo says lightly. “And really? You’re gonna be pissed at him for getting hurt? Why weren’t you pissed at me, then?”

“It’s different,” Anthony stresses. “Yours was a fluke accident, like Kris’s ankle injury. I wasn’t mad at him for that, there was nothing he could’ve done. This, though? He already knows it’s a bad idea to slide headfirst, but he keeps doing it.”

“Look, this is a conversation you really need to be having with him,” Zo says, not unkindly. “You two have to talk this out, and talking to me about it won’t change his mind, or change what happened.”

“I know, I’m just pissed at him and I can’t talk to him right now, so,” Anthony shrugs. 

“We’ve got a baseball game to win, focus on that, okay?” Zo pats him on the shoulder. “Keep the stuff with Kris off the field, you know this.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Anthony sighs, turns his attention back to the field, where Monty is at bat. “How much you wanna bet he gets a hit here?”

“Five bucks,” Zo says confidently, laughing.

“Cheapskate,” Rizzo rolls his eyes. 

“Hey, it just means you’ll have to pay me less when-“ Zo falls silent at the crack of Monty’s bat connecting with the ball. “Wait, did he just-“

“Hell yeah, baby! Home run!” Anthony shouts, grinning as Monty rounds the bases, a huge smile on his face. “You owe me, Zoballs.”

“A bet’s a bat,” Zo agrees, the two of them keeping their gazes fixed on the field as Monty comes back into the dugout triumphantly. They stay there while the Braves’ catcher confers with his pitcher, then turn around to high-five Montgomery when he makes a second pass through the dugout. Anthony spots PJ coming down the tunnel, and moves away from the railing to talk to him.

“It’s not broken, and nothing’s torn,” PJ says to him before Anthony can get a word out. “Just a sprain.”

“It’s just a sprain?” Anthony repeats, relief washing over him. “How much time will he miss?”

“Hard to tell today, it’ll depend more on how he’s feeling tomorrow and the next day,” PJ shrugs. “Best case scenario, just a couple of days. Worst would be maybe a week.” 

Anthony thanks PJ, and sends up a silent prayer of thanks to the baseball gods for Kris’s incredible luck in not getting seriously injured. For good measure, he sends up another prayer to them that Monty’s pitching today goes as well as his batting did.

 

Anthony’s anger at Kris has mostly cooled by the end of the game. The team is upbeat, laughing and chatting as they head back into the clubhouse. There’s nothing better than a decisive win to pull off a double sweep, on the road no less. Their pitching’s been better, their offense has been more consistent, and things are finally starting to come together as a team for them. 

“Hey, great game out there on both sides,” Anthony says, raising his hand to Monty for a fist bump. “You’re a big slugger now, eh? I’ll have to watch my back if I want to keep my team lead in homers.”

“Oh, of course,” Monty laughs. “I’ll pinch hit in every game and hit a homer every single time.”

“Of course, what else could possibly happen?” Anthony asks, giving him another pat on the shoulder and heading over to his locker. By the time he gets there, reporters are already swarming around Kris, demanding to know how his finger is and how long he thinks he’ll be out and if he’s going to stop sliding headfirst. Anthony, like all the media, looks down at Kris’s finger to assess the damage for himself. It’s taped to his ring finger and looks a little red and swollen, but nothing near what Anthony was still afraid of, even after hearing that it was only a sprain. Kris shoots him a smile before returning his attention to the reporters, so he doesn’t seen Anthony’s scowl back at him. He’s just pulling out his phone to wade through the inevitable flood of notifications when he catches a reporter asking Kris about the Milwaukee incident and his earlier declaration that he would stop sliding headfirst. 

Kris laughs, brushing off the comment. Anthony stares incredulously at him from his locker, wondering how on earth he could be laughing and shrugging off something like this. He’s barely able to conceal his anger as he continues to listen to their questions, Kris sounding completely unconcerned and casual about the whole situation. He knows he won’t be able to make it much longer without giving a visible indication of his anger, so he hastily shoves his phone back in his locker and stalks away to the showers, hoping that will help calm him down.

 

It doesn’t. By the time he emerges, he’s still spitting mad at his idiotic boyfriend, and he’s not sure how he’s going to make it through a plane ride back to Chicago with him. If they get on the plane around the same time, though, Kris will expect them to sit together like they usually do, and Anthony is pretty sure that will end with him shouting at Kris while the whole team listens. They can’t afford that. With the team riding a hot streak after a disappointing first half, they can’t have the clubhouse start to fall apart. 

“Hey, Rizz,” Lester greets him near the door to the locker room. “I’m surprised you’re not hovering over your guy like you two usually are when something happens to one of you.” Lester’s tone is light, joking, but the smile drops off of his face when he sees Rizzo’s resulting scowl. “Is everything alright?”

“I can’t talk to Kris right now,” Anthony admits. “I’m pissed at him but I can’t yell at him with the team around, but I also don’t know how to avoid him on the plane without people noticing something’s wrong.”

“The two of us will sit together, then,” Lester says. “You get on early, and I’ll be right behind you and take the seat next to you. But, Rizz, you guys can’t be bringing fights into the clubhouse.”

“I’m not pissed at him because of anything to do with our relationship, I’m pissed at him because he was being an idiot in sliding headfirst today, which he shouldn’t do at all,” Rizzo says testily. “But we’ll work it out over the off day and be fine by the next game. I wouldn’t bring issues into the clubhouse, you know me better than that.”

“I was surprised,” Lester concedes, “but I don’t know if it’s any better that you’re mad at him about baseball. As long as you two work it out, I guess.”

“We will,” Rizzo promises. “Just not with the entire team as witnesses.”

“That’s fair,” Lester says. “Then we’ll sit together on the plane, that shouldn’t arouse any suspicions.”

“Thanks, Jonny,” Rizzo manages a weak smile. “You’re the best.”

“Damn right I am,” Lester grins. “You’d better go get your stuff ready to go, though.”

 

“Hey,” Kris greets him with a smile when Anthony goes back to his locker to get his bag. “Good game out there today.”

“Well, we won,” Anthony says, trying to keep his tone casual so as to not alert Kris to anything being wrong. 

“So what’s wrong then?” Anthony has to resist the urge to sigh. Of course that wouldn’t work, his boyfriend is far too perceptive exclusively when Anthony doesn’t want him to be.

“I have to talk to you about something when we get back to Chicago,” Anthony says shortly, meeting Kris’s eyes for the first time since before the game. 

“Okay,” Kris says quietly, blue eyes wide. He turns away, but not before Anthony sees the pain and confusion in them. He aches at having caused Kris more pain, but he can’t talk it out with him now, can’t risk messing up the chemistry in the clubhouse because of their relationship. Kris grabs his bag, initially picking it up with his left hand. He winces, swearing under his breath as he drops it back in his locker, cradling his hand to his chest. Anthony reaches out to help him, but Kris pulls away from him and heads over to join a group of relievers, leaving Anthony standing alone. 

J-Hey gives Anthony a strange look when he wanders past his locker. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Anthony says, giving him a weak smile. 

“Yeah, you don’t sound too fine,” Heyward sits down in Kris’s locker, gesturing at Anthony to sit down in his. “What’s going on? Is it about Kris getting hurt?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Anthony mutters. “We’ll be fine.”

“If you want to talk about it, I’m always ready to listen,” Heyward offers. “As long as you two can keep it together on the field.”

“Yeah, of course, we’ll be professional,” Anthony says. “It might be kind of difficult to keep it together on the field, though, considering he won’t be on the field for a little while.”

“Okay, you might be right,” Heyward admits ruefully. “But if you need a friend to vent to about your relationship, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks,” Anthony says, getting up and grabbing his own bag. “I think Kris and I will be able to work it out together, but thank you.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Jason smiles. “Don’t be too hard on him while he’s hurting, Rizz.”

“I know,” Anthony says. “It’s me, I’m the most protective boyfriend ever. I love him, and I’m just upset at him because he got hurt by being reckless.”

“Okay, I trust you with him,” Jason says. “Just try to keep from breaking him more than he already broke himself.”

“That’s my job,” Anthony says.

“Good,” Jason nods at him, heading across the room to join the team making their way to the bus. Anthony follows after him, feeling strangely reassured by Jason’s comments, despite their brevity.

 

“So, should we drive separately back to your apartment or are we going to continue to drive together?” Kris asks, several hours later, when the bus from the airport has returned them to the players’ lot at Wrigley.

“Why wouldn’t we continue to drive together?” Anthony frowns at him, pausing in his walk over to his car.

Kris raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re breaking up with me, I don’t really want to have to Uber back to my place from yours.”

“Breaking up with you? I’m not breaking up with you,” Anthony says, staring at Kris in surprise.

“Really? Because saying that we need to talk and then not sitting with me on either bus or the plane kinda makes me feel like something’s wrong between us right now,” Kris says dryly.

“I’m not happy with you right now, but I’m also not breaking up with you,” Anthony assures him. “Let’s talk about it when we get to my apartment, though.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Kris mutters, flexing his injured hand and dropping his gaze. Anthony tamps down his desire to alleviate Kris’s unhappiness immediately. It’ll be better to talk it out at home than in the car, but he hates letting it fester between them for any longer. 

Thankfully, the traffic is light on the way back, so they don’t have to wait all that much longer. Anthony moves to take Kris’s bag to carry it for him, but Kris gives him a long look, and Anthony relents to his boyfriend’s stubbornness. Kris greets the doorman with his usual cheeriness, turning on the Bryant smile for him. The doorman notices Kris’s taped pinky and expresses concern over it, but Kris brushes it off easily and politely enough that the doorman hardly seems to notice his effective dismissal. The second they’re in the elevator, though, Kris drops the smile and spends the ride staring angrily at the corner of the elevator, seemingly biding his time. 

The door to their apartment has just closed behind Anthony when Kris whirls around to face him, blue eyes blazing. “What the fuck is your problem, Rizzo?” he snaps. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I don’t exactly enjoy getting hurt and then my boyfriend not only not seeming to care, but actively being angry at me about it!” 

“Yeah, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you hadn’t been stupid and reckless!” Anthony snaps back, regretting the words as soon as he says them. This wasn’t how he meant to have this conversation, but Kris isn’t even acknowledging his own fault in this. 

“Excuse me?” Kris steps back, shock flashing across his features before returning to anger. “Getting hurt is me being stupid now? How do you figure that?”

“Sliding headfirst!” Anthony hurls the words at him. “You’ve gotten hurt doing it before, you said you would stop doing it after that, and now look!”

“You’re a damn hypocrite,” Kris laughs, a bit hysterically. “You always slide headfirst, why is it only an issue when I do it?”

“Because you always get hurt and I hate seeing you get hurt and it seems like you don't even care!” Rizzo yells.

“Are you kidding me?” Kris asks, the anger dropping from his voice, replaced by incredulousness and an undercurrent of hurt. “You could’ve just said that to me. This didn’t even need to be a big deal, we could’ve talked about it with the team around.”

“Kris, you don't-“ Anthony tries, anger still rushing through him, but something that feels like shame starting to pool in his stomach in the face of Kris’s disappointment.

“I don’t care what you thought you were doing, you handled this really badly,” Kris says flatly. “How hard is it to say, ‘Hey Kris, I wish you wouldn’t slide headfirst anymore. You always seem to get hurt when you do it and I hate seeing that, would you be willing to try sliding feet first or wearing protective gear?’ It’s not hard, but instead you had to blow this up into a huge deal. Great job there, thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” Anthony says quickly, his anger slowly ebbing away. “You’re right, I see that now, I just wasn’t thinking things through earlier.”

“You had hours to think during the game and right after and while traveling home,” Kris says tiredly. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this more right now. My finger hurts and I’m exhausted, so I’m going to bed. You do what you want.”

“Kris-wait, please, just-“ Anthony steps forward, reaching out to Kris. “Can I get you some ice or anything for your finger, at least?”

“Ice and Advil would be great,” Kris says after a beat. “Seriously, though, I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”

“No, you’re right, I shouldn’t have brought it up tonight,” Anthony says. “I just don’t want to go to bed angry.”

“I’m not angry, I’m just tired. We’ll be fine talking it out in the morning.”

“Okay,” Anthony says, watching as Kris trudges back towards their bedroom. His anger is completely gone now, replaced by a sense of shame. Kris is right, how could he not have thought things through better since the game? Doing just about anything else would’ve been better than the mess he caused. He’s normally better than this, and fucking up when Kris is already hurt and frustrated is a new low for him. 

 

“Hey,” Kris greets him quietly, already in bed with the lights out when Anthony makes his way in to join him.

“Here,” Anthony holds out water, Advil, and a towel-wrapped ice pack to Kris. “Is there anything else I can do right now?”

“No, I just want to pass out for twelve hours, hope some magical healing goes on in that time, but thanks,” Kris says, taking the pills and chasing them down with a long drink of water. 

“If you wake up and need anything, don’t worry about waking me up,” Anthony says, climbing into bed next to Kris. “I mean it, really.”

“I’ll be fine, Rizz,” Kris says, a hint of exasperation bleeding into his tone. “I said I wasn’t mad at you, and I’m not. You don’t need to try to make it up to me now.”

“I’m not, really,” Anthony rolls over so he can meet Kris’s eyes. “You’re hurt and I want to help however I can. I was a dick earlier, and I am really sorry about that.”

“I know you are, which is why I’m not worried about talking it out tomorrow,” Kris says with a faint smile. “Now c’mon, let me go to bed.”

“I love you,” Anthony says, unable to resist the urge to give Kris a quick kiss as he does so. 

“I love you too, babe,” Kris reaches out with his good hand to rub his thumb over Anthony’s cheekbone. “But really, I want to sleep.”

“Whatever you want, hon,” Anthony replies, watching Kris’s bright eyes slip shut, the pain in his features disappearing as he relaxes into sleep. Anthony wishes that the pain he caused Kris with his anger could be erased as easily, but he knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to Kris. 

 

Anthony wakes up naturally the next morning for once. He keeps his eyes closed, enjoying not having a blaring alarm pull him out of sleep. Kris’s warmth is pressed next to him, and Anthony smiles contentedly, enjoying the quiet moment of domestic tranquility. He rolls over slightly to face Kris, finally opening his eyes so he can look at his boyfriend. The sleepy smile drops off his face as he takes in Kris’s features, lined with pain even in sleep. The ice pack had fallen onto the bed as they slept, so Anthony scoops it up and presses the gentlest of kisses to Kris’s cheek. Moving slowly to avoid waking Kris, he climbs out of bed, heading into the kitchen to get breakfast. 

While he’s rummaging around in the fridge for something quick to eat, the carton of eggs catches his eye and brings to mind Kris’s omelets. It’s probably hard to make an effective omelet with only one hand, he figures, so he grabs out the eggs and other ingredients he needs and gets to work making breakfast for Kris. 

It’s certainly not the best omelet, because despite his mother’s best efforts Anthony is still a terrible cook, but it looks definitely passable. Adding a glass of orange juice, some Advil, and a fresh ice pack, Anthony takes the loaded tray back into their bedroom, smiling when he sees Kris already awake.

“Hey, babe,” he greets quietly. “I made you breakfast.”

Kris blinks slowly, still in the process of waking up, and the happiness in his hazy blue eyes makes Anthony’s heart well up with love for this amazing man. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kris says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his right hand. “It’s sweet of you, though.”

“Yeah, well,” Anthony shrugs, momentarily uncertain what to say. “You deserve a sweet boyfriend, not an asshole one who yells at you when you get hurt.”

Kris sighs, although it sounds more a sigh of fond exasperation than anything else. “Sit down,” he says, patting the bed next to him. Anthony passes him the breakfast tray, which Kris balances on his thighs, and sits. Kris pops the Advil, chasing it down with some juice, props his hand up on the ice, and fixes Anthony with a level stare. “Talk to me. Tell me why you reacted the way you did last night.”

“I’m sorry,” Anthony starts as Kris spears a piece of the omelet that Anthony had at least thought to cut up beforehand. “There’s no excuse for reacting like I did, and my reason isn’t even that good, but it’s what I’ve got. It’s been a frustrating season and it seems like half the team has been hurt at one point, and seeing you go down-it scares me. It scared me in Washington, when you sprained your ankle, it scares me every time you get hit, it scares me whenever you come off the field limping, and it especially scared me when you slid headfirst in Milwaukee two years ago and hurt your head. This reminded me of that, and guys see their seasons end with broken fingers or torn ligaments in them all the time, and it would kill me to see that happen to you. I just hate seeing you get hurt, and it was easier to blame that on you and your headfirst slide than bad luck. I wanted a target for everything going wrong, and I guess I channeled it onto you. But that’s still not an excuse, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Kris says quietly. “I hate it when anything bad happens to you, but I haven’t even had to see you exit a game early because you’re hurt, so I guess I can’t really say that I get it. You still should have handled it better, but if you really want me to stop sliding headfirst, I’ll work on it. No promises, but once I’m feeling better I’ll start practicing sliding feet first instead.”

“Thank you,” Anthony says gratefully. “And I’m still really sorry for how I flipped out at you.”

“It’s okay, I forgive you,” Kris says.

“Really?” Anthony asks. “I-God, I was an absolute dick to act like that.”

“Yeah, you kinda were,” Kris admits. “But your apology was sincere, and I can understand why you reacted like you did. We’re all good, really.”

“I love you,” Anthony replies, leaning forward to kiss his boyfriend. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“So you keep telling me,” Kris smiles back. “I happen to disagree and think a certain first baseman actually is, but we can agree to disagree.”

Anthony laughs, his smile matching Kris’s and his heart full of relief and contentedness. Things weren’t perfect, but in that moment, nothing seemed very far away from being so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm considering doing another chapter after Kris getting hit by a pitch in the win over the Reds, but honestly I'm not sure about it. We'll see, but for now consider this the last chapter. Hopefully KB and Rizz can stay healthy for the rest of the season (knock on wood).
> 
> Comments and kudos always make my day!!


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